Grave of Innocence
by Anansi's child
Summary: Childhood is a dream from which we must all wake. Raziel finds out the hard way.
1. Chapter 1

Grave of Innocence

Disclaimer: Yeah, I wish Raziel and Co. were mine and that Nosgoth was really my personal playground.

Prologue

Crossroads lie before him,  
Shadows blind his sight.  
The choice is his, and the horror,  
Which to doom, which to make right.

The man dreams. In his dreams, he sees hands-rough hands with thick skin, ungentle and unforgiving.The hands reach out to him seize him and bear him away.

The man dreams. In his dreams, he sees hands-fiery hot and red and orange and yellow with a heart of almost black. They burn, relentless and consuming, destroying all he ever knew and loved that was now corrupted, defiled by an ancient evil.

The man dreams. In his dreams, he sees hands-one wrapped aroung a staff, the otehr raised as if in gentle benediction, and he thinks he has found his salvation.

The man dreams. In his dreams, he sees hands-cloven and alien. They reach out to him, beseeching, and he wonders what they ask.

The man dreams, and in his dreams, he understands. He understands.

Author's notes:  
1. Yeah... I am in need of a beta. Please do contact me if you're interested 2. This is going to be a multi-part fic. The prologue is written in a different style from the rest of the fic. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own anything other than the plot.

Warnings: I'd like to say sex, blood, violence and gore, but there's none really.

/.../ refers to thoughts, though I don't use this often at all.

Chapter 1

... For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come?

Macbeth, by Shakespeare

* * *

The boy was spirited, he'd give him that much. It had been nearly two days since the boy was captured, and still he struggled-when he was conscious, of course. The watcher tightened his wrinkled old hands on his staff. Perhaps he should tell the boy's captors to be more gentle?

He seriously considered the thought-after all, it would not do for the boy to be... _permanently damaged_... But no- better, perhaps, that the boy suffer and rage against his captors-it would suit his plans better.

For the thousandth time, Raziel cursed his captors. Truthfully, it _was_ the only way he could show his defiance. While there were no restraints on his legs, they had blindfolded him and bound his arms together behind him. with his vision thus impaired, he stumbled and fell often. Only the rough hand clutching the back of his shirt had saved him from falling on his face as his foot was caught by a tree root this time.

* * *

It was hard to keep up with them, and the only reason he even considered doing so was the sharp whip one of his captors would apply to his back whenever he started to slow. He already had several welts on his back from that whip-more than once, they had beaten him to unconsciousness with it.

He was in pain. The rough treatment the wound on his left leg had received did little for the pain, and his captors had been running for what had to be at least a day. For most part, he had had to run along with them. He could tell that they were already farther away from his town than _he_ had ever been. The sound of the river that flowed by his town and into the forest had been with them for a greater part of the run, but now it was gone. It had been replaced by the sound of bats and the occasional song of a thrush.

Raziel stumbled once more, and this time, the hand at his back was unable to prevent him from falling. He fell, and hit his head hard upon a rock.

* * *

It was quiet, almost _too_ quiet. There were no sounds save the faint, far-away call of a lark, and the closer chirp of a warbler.

Raziel wondered what had happened to his captors in the time that he had been unconscious. Where had they gone? For that matter, _where was he_? The birdsong and the heavy perfume of the woodland flowers told him that he was still in the forest, but gave no clue as to how far away he was from his town. He gingerly tried to move his leg, and winced as flash of pain shot through him.

A sudden rustling behind him-

He tensed, knowing and hating the fact that he was easy prey.

"Well boy, you certainly look like you need help." the voice was concerned and gentle, and Raziel felt his muscles relax. "Come, let me help you."

A sound as if an object had been set aside, and hands touched his blindfold. They quickly untied it, and just as quickly set to work on the bindings on his arms. He turned to look at his benefactor, and saw an old man. He was bald and his eyes were a strange blind-white. A staff lay near him, nestled beside a fallen, moss-covered tree trunk.

"Thank you... thank you, oh god, _thank you_!" Raziel's voice was heartfelt as he thanked the old man. "How can I ever repay you!"

'Tch... boy, I could hardly leave anyone bound in such a manner! Tell me, how _did_ you end up in such a state?"

* * *

At first, the boy was unsure what exactly had awakened him. Nothing seemed amiss in his darkened chamber, and the autumn night was silent save the buzz of the cicadas and the call of night-birds. Nothing that was at all out of place in a village near a forest. A cool breeze wafted through the open window.

/Wait... breeze? _Open_ window/

Raziel leapt out of bed, slender body immediately moving into a defensive position. Just in time, for as soon as his body assumed the stance, an assailant had aimed a kick at his side. He blocked the kick and retaliated with a punch that, he realized too late, had left his leg open to the knife that suddenly appeared on his left. He desperately tried to avoid it, but was only partially successful. Instead of puncturing his leg, it ripped a wound from his left hip almost to his knee.

He fell to the to his knees in front of a third assailant who punched him right beneath the chest.

Raziel felt his breath wheeze out of his lungs as he fell to the floor, winded and in pain. Two of them held him immobile as the third blindfolded and bound him. There came a sharp blow to his head and he fell into unconsciousness.

When he awoke once more, he was forced to run.

* * *

"I do not remember how long it is they forced me to run. All I know is that they whipped me to force me to run and carried me whenever I finally fell unconscious." As Raziel ended his tale, he glanced up at the old man as if gauging his reaction. "Did you happen to see who my captors were?"

"No boy-wait, what _is_ your name?"

"I am called Raziel, son of Rahvin of Teide."

"Ahh, truly now? ...Well, Raziel of Teide, I did not see your captors. You were alone, when I found you. Tell me, do you think you could find the way back to your village? If you do not, I can lead you there."

Raziel hesitated, looking around him in consternation. This part of the forest was completely unfamiliar to him, yet he had no wish to impose even more that he already had..

As if sensing the cause of his hesitation, the old man spoke again, this time with a hint of amusement and a smile on his lips. "Or perhaps you would rather accompany a frail old man to Teide? I am, after all, on my way there to visit my old friend Rahvin."

Raziel visibly started and stared at the old man.

"_Rahvin_! You know my father?"

"Yes, your father was once a great warrior among the Sarafan, and a brilliant strategist. I must admit that i have need of his council."

"_My_ _father_!"

The smile turned wry. "I suppose I should not be surprised that he tries to distance himself from his Sarafan past. We did not part on good terms, after all, and his inexplicable _liking_ for vampires..." he mused, almost half to himself.

Raziel stared at the old man, perplexed. "Forgive me if I sound rude,_ but who in hell _are_ you?"_

A chuckle, and then; "I, my boy? I am the Time Streamer Moebius."

* * *

Authors's notes:

1. This chapter was written in a number of hotel rooms across China on a piece of hotel stationery. Thankfully I could still read my handwriting.

2. Teide and Rahvin... I only played Defiance, but I've read the scripts for everything else and I couldn't find any references so I just made them up. If someone knows where Raziel was from or who his (birth) father is, please let me know so I can make corrections.

3. I don't know if it's because I'm terrible at chess or something but my mac just kicks my ass every time I play it. ARGH. At this rate, my self esteem is quickly being reduced to a thimbleful.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own both a lapdog and a laptop. I most definitely do not own Eidos, nor consequently, the Legacy of Kain series.

Warnings: A little pyromania, and a few carcasses scattered about but that's about it. Nothing even approaching squicky, unfortunately. Mention of blood but no sex. Kind of a turn off isn't it?

/.../ refers to thoughts.

Chapter 2

... They burn, relentless and consuming...

/…./

Teide was almost unnaturally still and silent as Raziel and Moebius approached it in the bleak light given of by the moon. No one had lit any lamps and the windows of the houses seemed almost to be portals into unending night set into stone walls. Even the inn, usually the haunt of every villager hungering for a tale and a mug of ale, was lifeless. A sweet-sickening stench that they-or Raziel, at least-could not identify lay heavily on the cool air.

Raziel could hear the thudding of his heart as he ran across the grassy field that separated the last straggling trees of the forest from the village. He was vaguely aware of Moebius shouting at him, telling to wait, telling him that it may be too dangerous to enter the village. He ignored the Time Streamer much as he ignored the throbbing of the cut on his leg. Neither were important-he _had_ to know what had happened.

/…./

Raziel knew there were times when reality seemed almost to be too surreal that the mind could scarce believe what the eyes see. Other time, events take place that the mind deems too difficult to accept, events that are too horrifically tragic. To preserve its sanity, it attempts to block out all memory of what it has seen. He just wished that his mind had taken that course.

/…./

Well, at least now he knew the source of the stench. He wondered how he had not identified it immediately. Living in the countryside as he did, rotting carcasses of animals were certainly _easy_ to come by. Then again, maybe that was how his mind had tried to protect him. Except, of course, he had been too stubborn. He was always stubborn, his mother told him that.

He heard laughter. Fancy that. He wondered who was laughing. Surely it wasn't him, or was it? No, how could he laugh with tears falling down his cheeks? maybe it was little Elise? She was staring at him after all. Golden hair all fanned out and grey eyes staring at him out of a pale, pale, pale face unconnected to any neck... Idly, he wondered if a person could laugh without, well... practically anything other than a head...

Or maybe pretty Timiora. _She_ at least had her throat, whole and intact. No wait... there was something on her neck.

Raziel bent over for a closer look, and turning her head to the side, saw the twin wounds on her neck. It was as if a snake had bitten her there. No, not a snake-_a vampire_. All of a sudden, it was as if sense had rushed back into him. He yanked his hand back and shakily climbed to his feet.

/_Vampires. Oh god! Why, why, oh why/_Teide was peaceful,_ neutral_ in the war between the Sarafan and the vampires. His father had told him the vampires never killed without reason. /_Why/_

"Vampires, then. Their mark is unmistakable." All of a sudden, Moebius was behind him, looking at him with pity in his eyes. "Boy-_Raziel_... I am so sorry."

"But why...?" His voice was little more than a whisper, as if to deny what he knew had happened.

"Who can tell with these vampires? They murder and pillage as they please. Senseless monsters, the lot of them, and their leader is the worst!" Moebius' voice was hard with anger and bitter with loathing.

"Why...?"

/…./

Moebius watched as Raziel dazedly wandered deeper into the stinking hellhole Teide had become. Evidently, the boy had not heard a word of what he said. Perhaps he should try again later when the shock had worn off? It wasn't as if _time_was in short supply after all.

Yes, when the shock wears off, it would be easier to convince the boy to place blame where it would best serve the Lord's purpose. After all, the desire for vengeance is such a human emotion, doubtless the boy too will thirst for it.

Thankfully it is equally as blind as any other emotion.

The Time Streamer decided to wait for Raziel at the outskirts of the village. The... _vampires_... had done a thorough job, and he honestly had no wish to subject himself to the results of it. As he passed the last of the buildings, he stared up the wall, and followed the trail of blood to the huddled corpse of a young man on the floor. Sloppy work for a vampire, to leave so much of their food wasted. He would need to have a few words with his pet Sarafan, such sloppiness was beyond even the most reckless of fledgelings.

­­­/…./

Each house he passed bore the gory evidence of a slaughter, each street a channel of blood. The charnel house stench had grown even stronger the closer he came to his house. Even upon seeing the faces of his dead friends, seeing their mangled and mutilated bodies, he held out hope that his father, the only kin he had ever known, may yet be alive. In truth, it was only hope that kept him moving, that kept him from collapsing where he was. Raziel hoped, because it was the only thing he could do.

Before he realized it, the rough wooden door to his house loomed before him. It was shut, and as he reached out to open it, he prayed hard to the god that his hope may prove true.

He opened the door, and saw carnage.

/…./

The screaming echoed around him as Moebius sat tending to the fire he had lit. He wondered what it was the boy had found-a friend, a relative? Either-or, such a world of possibilities, and none of it truly mattered. Such a sad waste of life, even for the questionable standard of vampires.

The fire crackled and he leaned over to stir the embers. Raziel would eventually come back to him, and the Elder God willing, in a mood suited to persuasion.

­­­/…./

Sorrow blinded him, grief eating up his sight until all he could see was blurred by a mist the red of blood. His screams echoed in his ears and his eyes fell on the prone figure of his father. Strange, when, after all the blood that had covered the village, there was none here in his house. There was indeed his father, lying staring and dead, but there was no blood. _The wretched vampires had made a meal of his father, dismembering him limb from limb_.

/_No, not sorrow. Never again sorrow!_ _Rage, and hatred! _/

Raziel never knew when the red before his eyes had metamorphed from a mist of grief into a blinding, furious cloud of anger. All he knew was that he would crush those who had destroyed all he ever knew. Teide was no more, and he would see to it that those responsible would pay.

But first, he could not allow any to mutilate even further what remained of father. He made his way to the small shed at the back of his house where they kept firewood and tinder. He took an armful, and stacked them around the remains of his father.

He bowed his head, and whispered a prayer as old as time itself. " May your soul be released from this mortal coil, and be blown upon the winds of fate to rejoin the God. Thus shall your soul fulfill its task in the eternal, purifying cycle of life, death and rebirth." Thus finishing, he bent down to set fire to the makeshift pyre, and watched as it consumed the one he had loved the most.

The crackle of fire was his swansong, then-the death-song of his childhood, but also the herald of his rebirth.

He stood and made his way out of the village. The lord Moebius would surely know how to help him in his quest for vengeance, and he was certain that the Time Streamer would not refuse him. He did not notice that a spark from the pyre had escaped, and soaring out through the open window, landed on the thatched roof of the house next door.

/…./

The boy was approaching, and in a somewhat more control of himself than he had been. When he was near enough, Moebius gazed into his eyes, and slowly nodded, pleased with the way the coin had turned. It was not, after all, everyday that the vagrancy of fortune fitted his machinations so perfectly. Raziel would need no further convincing to fulfill his fate.

The Time Streamer stood and held out his hand to the boy, and together, they turned back into the forest that separated the village the rest of the world. Behind them, casting the forest into sharp relief, a fire grew and consumed what had once been the prosperous village of Teide.

TBC

Author's note:

1. I am assuming that the main religion in Nosgoth centered on the elder god, and that Raziel's father, being a Sarafan, would have brought up his son to be religious.

2. Yeah. One sentence paragraphs are very bad, but I felt they added to the dramatic effect. Please tell me if they don't and actually sound stupid. If they don't help the story, I'll try avoiding them. Thanks!

3. Thank you to Twisted Sister for your very kind comments! I love them and look forward to them.

4. I'm placing Teide somewhat to the southeast of Uschtenheim, near Janos Audron's retreat.

5. I'm really sorry about taking so long, but I just can't find the time to write. My god... Engineering is such a terrible major! That said, I probably won't have the next chapter out till around Christmas. sorry...

Of course, reviews and flames are loved.


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